Does You-Know-Who Look
by The Conquerors
Summary: A chance encounter with a movie changes the final showdown tremendously.
1. Concentration

WE OWN NOTHING, AS ALWAYS

Does You-Know-Who Look...

By Conqueror Z

Conceived by Z and C

* * *

The Dursleys were gone for the night. His uncle had been invited to a Grunnings dinner, and Uncle Vernon had decided to take his wife and son with him as a treat and to proudly show off his little boy. They had told him not to leave his room for anything before they left, and Uncle Vernon had made sure the door was locked before they left.

They had only been gone for a few minutes before Harry Potter managed to open the door to his room and enter the kitchen. The boy was starving, as he hadn't been fed any scraps from dinner tonight. Acting quickly, he made a ham and cheese sandwich for himself before replacing everything carefully. Aunt Petunia would assume that either Vernon or Dudley would have made themselves a late-night snack. As he grabbed his bounty and started heading back to his room, he stopped in the doorway of the sitting room, where Dudley had left the TV on.

The screen caught his eye as it started running a movie unlike anything Harry had seen before.

" _Pulp Fiction_? That's a weird name." Harry muttered to himself, drawn to the TV despite himself.

The Dursleys wouldn't be back for a while, having to drive to London, eat, and drive back. He had some time to kill, Harry reasoned.

* * *

It was a 53 minute drive from Surrey to London on a perfectly clear night with no accidents. It was not a clear night, and there had been two accidents, increasing the Dursley's drive time to about 62 minutes both ways.

They sat at the restaurant for about 35 minutes eating, and sat talking with Vernon's coworkers and superiors for a further 20 minutes.

The movie Harry watched had a runtime of 154 minutes. By the time the Dursley's car pulled into their driveway, he had been back in his room for about 23 minutes.

He was quiet as the Dursleys trudged upstairs to their respective rooms, and made no noise when Vernon checked the lock on his door.

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, his mind buzzing with thoughts about the amazing movie he had watched.

* * *

Years had passed since that fateful night. Now Harry Potter, age 17, stood in the ruins of the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

His foe, the legendary Dark Lord Voldemort, stood before him. Around them, the Death Eaters and the Defenders of Hogwarts both stared on in equal fascination, having mutually stopped fighting to witness the culmination of a feud that had lasted seventeen years.

It was the Dark Lord who spoke first, of course. His pride wouldn't let him be made a fool of in battle, be it one of wands or of wits. He waved his hand through the air, showing off the Elder Wand clasped in his pale hand.

"Well, Potter." he said, practically hissing the name. "It seems that no matter what you do, or who you sacrifice, you truly are destined to die at my hand, after all."

Harry did not respond, choosing instead to observe his movements.

The red eyes of Voldemort flashed briefly in pleasure. The boy must be so afraid of him that he couldn't even speak!

"But I suppose that this is how it was always going to go, wasn't it? Here and now, at the end, I can finish our lengthy struggle with but a single spell!" he continued, gathering his magic.

Still, the boy said nothing. He simply stood there, arms at his sides, with his wand loosely held.

This was even better than he thought! The terror building in the boy had paralyzed him! Nothing would save him now!

"This wand has given me power untold! I could destroy this whole castle with a single thought! Would you like that, Potter? Would you like to see your pitiful existence crumble around you? I assure you, I could grant you a merciful death if you wanted." he offered tauntingly, supremely confident in his victory.

Yet still, Harry Potter said nothing. The boy simply looked at him with an unreadable expression.

The tension in the air was so thick the sharpest knife in the world couldn't cut it.

Voldemort grinned a wicked smile, which was a truly terrifying sight considering his facial features consisted of gleaming red eyes, a slitted nose like a snakes, and teeth that seemed to be like gravestones. He was so convinced of his superiority and victory that he never saw Harry reach into his jacket.

The crowd was so transfixed by Voldemort's words that they didn't see Harry move either.

"Well then, Potter. I guess if you won't talk, I'll just have to find a way to make you talk. Perhaps I should pick one of your dear allies and make them scream? Maybe that will get you talki-"

 _BOOM!_

The gunshot rang through the silent Great Hall, startling everyone in it. The only movement came from Lucius Malfoy, who slumped over with a bleeding hole in his head.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One of the Wizarding World, blew away the smoke coming from the barrel of the Walther P99 in his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry Tom, did I break your concentration?" Harry finally said, walking towards the now-stunned Dark Lord, wand in one hand and pistol in the other.

The wizards who came from non-magical families recognized the weapon for what it was instantly. The vast majority of the Death Eaters, however, had no knowledge of the gun at all, as they were mostly Pure-Blood wizards.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you, Tom. That was rather rude of me, wasn't it?" Harry continued stopping a few feet away. "Do continue! I believe you were saying something about screaming?"

"I-I-I w-was..." Voldemort stuttered, completely thrown off by the sight of is chief financial supplier getting shot in the head.

"Oh, you were finished? Good! Then allow me to retort!" Harry exclaimed happily before shooting Voldemort in the kneecap.

The Dark Lord screamed as he went down, the Elder Wand falling from his hands as they automatically went to hold his knee, which was now gushing blood.

The bullet had gone through the patellar tendon and the articular cartilage before becoming stuck in the femur. Even if Voldemort was going to live through the next few minutes, he would still need major surgery and therapy to ever regain full mobility in his right leg.

Harry began to walk around the now-crippled Dark Lord, stopping only to pick up the fallen Elder Wand and tuck it into his pocket. The shocked crowd was just as transfixed with his movements as they were with Voldemort's.

"I did a little reading while we were on the run. Shocker, I know." Harry said conversationally while examining his fallen enemy like one would look at a piece of chewing gum stuck to their shoe. "After all, despite all of Hermione's efforts, I never was the most studious of individuals. Probably Ron's influence." he added, sending a little nod to the Weasley in question, who hesitantly waved back.

He turned his attention back to Voldemort. "And while I was reading, I came across a verse I fell in love with. It reads:

" _The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the  
Inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men  
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will  
shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness  
for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children  
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious  
Anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers  
And you will know  
My name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"_

As he spoke, Harry had maneuvered himself to be in Voldemort's field of view, who, in contrast to his earlier expression of pleasure, instead wore an expression that provided the impression that Voldemort had just relieved himself in his underwear.

Judging by the odor, that wasn't far off the mark.

Harry grinned. "Ezekiel 25:17. It doesn't get any better than that, doesn't it Tom?" The grin was abruptly wiped away to be replaced with a scowl.

"Know this, Tom. The vengeance that I lay upon you now is of your own doing. I kill you now in the names of my parents, who you murdered, and in the countless others who died as a result of your actions." Harry intoned as he approached his fallen foe,the Walther P99 seemingly gleaming in his hand.

All those gathered around, Death Eaters and defenders alike, held their breath.

Harry Potter raised the gun.

"Goodbye, Tom."

 _BOOM!_

The first shot went through the Dark Lord's neck.

 _BOOM!_

The next shot went into the left shoulder.

 _BOOM! BOOM!_

The next two shots were carefully placed in the head. Harry put the second shot in just to make sure. He considered the gun for a second, then pulled the trigger three more times.

 _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Finally satisfied, Harry stepped away from the ruined, bloody, bullet-riddled corpse of Voldemort, pausing only to spit in the corpse's general direction.

He turned to look in the direction of the gathered Death Eaters, who now watched his every movement fearfully. Harry pointed the gun at them.

There was a clatter of wood on stone as the Death Eaters, stone-cold killers to a man, dropped their wands like they were on fire and prostrated themselves on the ground with hands raised.

"Motherfucking cowards." Harry muttered.

* * *

 **AN: I, Z, along with C, Created the Idea for this Story Long ago, but never actually Wrote it. Now I have.**

 **More Stuff coming Soon.**

 **Laters.**


	2. Car Problems

**NOTHING IS OWNED**

Does You-Know-Who Look...

Chapter 2: Car Problems

* * *

It was not long after the climatic Battle of Hogwarts that Harry Potter, personal Hit-wizard of the Minister of Magic, was summoned back to the castle of his youth. This time, he was not there to learn the ways of wizards, nor was he there to do battle against the villainous Death Eaters. No, he was there for a far more interesting reason.

"So, let me get this straight, Mr. Weasley. When a student was wandering around the Forbidden Forest, past curfew I might add, they were attacked by a, and I'm quoting him here, a "bloody great blue beast with great big ruddy silver teeth." Upon further investigation, it was discovered that it was your now-feral flying car. Am I right so far?"

"Yes, Harry. That's right." Arthur Weasley said.

"And when you tried to approach it, it shied away, right?"

"Quite suddenly, as well. I was quite surprised when it growled at me."

"So after you took a Calming Draught, you decided to get me involved _why_?"

"I thought that someone with your, ah, _unique_ talents of persuasion might help. I mean, you _did_ talk the Whomping Willow into standing still to be fitted for a swing set."

"True, true." Harry considered the job for a moment, then sighed and adjusted his tailored black suit. "Alright, I'll give it a shot."

* * *

The clearing wasn't far from the Acromantula nest, so the wizards stationed nearby to watch over the car were understandably on edge. Their eyes darted ever which way, seeing shadows with far too may legs everywhere. The only light was that coming from their wands and from the car's beaten up headlights.

When Harry arrived, they almost didn't notice the presence of the Wizarding World's Saviour because of how focused they were.

The first thing Harry noticed was the car, of course. It had been years since he had seen it, but he recognized it instantly. The turquoise paint had accumulated multiple scratches from several years of driving through the underbrush, the right wing mirror was missing, all the windows were broken, and the grill had been stained with a combination of mud, twigs, and what appeared to be the still twitching severed limb of an Acromantula.

Despite the obvious differences, it was clearly a 1965 Ford Angela 105E, and judging from the fact it was growling at anything close to it, it was defiantly Mr. Weasley's car.

Sighing to himself, Harry illuminated his wand and began to approach the feral automobile. He stopped about five feet away when it began to growl louder.

"Oh, don't give me that shit, ya bloody blue outdated piece of clam crap." Harry snapped. The car was suddenly quiet, though it's headlights seemed to have narrowed.

"Now, I know you can hear me, and I know that your gonna listen." Harry said, his voice promising severe pain if he wasn't occupying the car's complete attention.

"There's a fine gentleman outside the woods who worked very hard on you, and he's very unhappy right now. He asked me to come and have a word with you, so that's what I'm going to do." he said as he took another step forward. The car watched his every move.

"Now, I want you to listen to me very closely, cause I don't feel like repeating myself. If you do not leave the Forest right now and return to your creator groveling and begging for forgiveness, I am definitely going to fuck you up." Harry said calmly, as if stating a fact, while taking another step forward.

"First, I am going to drag you to the middle of London and bewitch ever pigeon and owl in the city to come and crap all over you. And it won't be normal crap either. Every single bloody bird will be does with a special laxative that will build up an explosive charge of bird shit that will cover you completely. Then, I will drag you all the way across the pond to America, where I will leave you on the set of a show called _Pimp My Ride_. I know that there is an adaptation of the show here in England, but I don't give a shit. I will kidnap you to America specifically because you _pissed me off_."

Harry was now three feet from the car.

"Then, when you are over there, in America, on the set of _Pimp My Ride_ , I will leave you there for about, oh, lets say three weeks. And when I come back after those three weeks, you will look like the car version of a 3 dollar prostitute after a solid forty-eight hour shift on the busiest street corner in London."

The car gave the impression of having a nervous expression on it's face, which is quite impressive since it didn't actually have a face. Harry had now reached the two foot mark.

"And if that's not enough to make the message sink in, I'm gonna go even further. Have you heard of the movie _Christine_?"

The car's chassis seemed to shiver.

"Ah, so you have. Good, that'll save me some time. If you haven't gotten the message through your thick engine block by that point, I'm gonna either purchase a bulldozer or Conjure one, then I'm gonna run you over with it so many times you'll look like a blue, hooker-fied pancake with engine oil as syrup and bird shit bombs as chocolate chips."

As Harry took another step, the car began to back up.

"Then, I'm gonna put you back together slowly and painfully, with the least effective version of the _Reparo_ spell in existence. And after that, if for _some fucking reason,_ you are not cooperative, I will take you to the closest farm and attach a hitch to your fat, turquoise ass, and you will spend the rest of your days hauling pig shit and hay bales around the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere. I _don't care if your chassis is not structurally sound enough to support a full cart of hay and shit, it will happen regardless._ "

The car was attempting to hide behind a fallen tree with minimal results. Harry was now directly in front of it, staring through the beaten-up headlights right into it's soul.

"So, all this can happen, or you can drive out of the Forest right now and prostrate yourself before Mr. Weasley. Cause I can assure you, whatever he will do to you is far better than what _I_ will do if you don't go _now_.

* * *

Mr. Weasley was astounded to see Harry walking out of the Forbidden Forest as if it was Hyde Park with his car silently trundling along behind him.

"However did you do it?! I thought that I would never see it again!" he asked incredulously as he ran forward to examine the vehicle.

"Oh it wasn't that hard." Harry said, casually buffing his nails on his jacket while shooting the car a side glance that, if it was physically possible, would have made the car blanch. An idea came to hi mind.

"Tell me, Mr. Weasley, what are the exact enchantments you put on this car?"

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Props to Anyone who knows What this was Inspired by.**

 **Thank You.**


End file.
